


Floating in a Tin Can

by Hillsofuhhtennessee



Category: KISS (US Band)
Genre: Corny sci-fi, Gen, Platonic Relationships, Space Horror, Space Oddity-esque, cameos by Peter Eric C and Bruce, doomed spaceflight, frank talk of death, inhalant use, space travel, wild scientific inaccuracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:35:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28402563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hillsofuhhtennessee/pseuds/Hillsofuhhtennessee
Summary: Space travelers Blackwell and Ace are on a long journey through deep space when in a fit of rage, Blackwell accidentally ejects Ace in an escape pod.  He has five days to frantically try to rescue him and battle technical difficulties as a man who can barely turn a screwdriver the right direction.
Relationships: Ace Frehley&Gene Simmons
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	Floating in a Tin Can

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly written as late 70s-early 80s era Gene/Ace, more loyal to their irl personalities than personas. I’ve wanted to write a space horror fic about Ace sometime and him and Gene aren’t paired together much but have a nice dynamic of weird but rational and responsible vs weird and irrational and irresponsible. 
> 
> I may be an engineer irl but know little about space travel, there’s a few sorta realistic details but most of this is corny sci-fi stuff.

Nobody would have expected to see Blackwell on a spaceship. He was hardly the type inclined to be an astronaut, with all the mechanical and astronomical aptitude of a defrosted caveman and a tendency to get motion sickness even on bumpy airplanes. People joked about him being a demon because of how willing he was to go off on biblical arguments with others and use religious allusions, while shirking away from nearly anything iron. 

“Ace! What the fuck are you doing?”

His crewmate was a noodly androgynous man with a wide, thin-lipped mouth like a salamander. Presently, he was huffing some chemical from the climate control system.

“Man, long flights just get boring sometimes, some days you just gotta huff some space-grade refrigerant.”

“Idiot! We only have a limited supply and god knows how long it’ll be before we can land for more. Stop your tomfoolery and fix that damn system before we both get turned into six foot space hotdogs!”

Ace looked a bit hurt as the brief high wore off and he realized how pissed Blackwell was at him. He was a dictionary definition functional addict, but he was damn good at keeping the ship running (albeit in strange ways at times). Both of them were the type to bounce back easily to offense, fortunately. He rustled around in his utility belt and got to work.

So what was Blackwell doing on this ship? He was the front end man. He was useless technically, but had a way with charming people by making them feel like an old friend the first time he’d talk to them. And he could pick up languages and understand alien cultures rapidly. After all, he’d grown up in multiple areas where jumbles of human languages were spoken, and he’d once been an alien himself when he came to America. 

He also had an odd sort of loyalty. He’d cut people off like it was nothing, but when they’d come crawling back to him he’d often pity them and take them in. He bought his long-absent father a house years later when he struck it rich. He’d tried to ditch Ace several times before for his destructive drug-induced shenanigans and laziness, but inevitably let him back on the ship. 

He made his way back to the helm of the ship to check up on the displays. They were in the middle of a nearly monthlong journey to the edges of the empire, to some farflung desert planet that was an icy wasteland at each pole and a sandy wasteland along its equator. Needed to pick up a shipment of purple spice that sold for an ungodly amount as a supposed male enhancement drug. If the trip there wasn’t long and tedious enough, having to babysit Ace the entire way back to make sure he didn’t snort it all away was going to be worse. 

Come to think of it, the ship seemed to be getting uncomfortably warm. He turned back to go check on the bastard and see if he’d fixed the climate control yet. . 

Rather than fixing the system, Ace was breathing on the glass windows and drawing stupid pictures of himself, his crewmate, and sexy alien babes.

“What’s this crap? You were supposed to get that thing up and running again! Where’s the bump in my nose on your stupid picture??”

“Man, Blackwell, I know you don’t drink and all, but you really need to just relax and have a beer sometime. Space is fucking cold and as long as the heater’s working, I ain’t gonna complain about your B.O. I figured as long as we’re stuck on this boring ship for the next couple weeks, we may as well get high and make it a little more enjoyable. Stare profoundly at the vastness of space, look for faces in the space toasters, marvel at the complexity of the machine that turns our piss into drinking water.”

“We have a mission. We are millions of miles from home or any remotely habitable planet and you’re going to sabotage one of the ship systems to... imbibe in those godforsaken CHEMICALS you so depend on!”

Ace backed up slowly, unsteadily raising his hands in surrender.

“Curly, we’re in this together, now’s not the time, just chill man.”

“WE are living in a vacuum inhospitable to damn near all life! If this ship fails in any way, we are fucked and neither of our families will even have a body to mourn!”

“Come on man, I’m like a space bear. One of those tardigrade things that can live in a vacuum and-“

“I don’t care what the fuck you say, Ace. You are not an alien. You are a mortal human besides your alcohol tolerance and sheer dumb luck!”

He thrust a meaty finger out for effect, but lost his balance and grabbed the nearest thing he could to steady himself, bumping the EMERGENCY POD RELEASE button.

Time slowed as he realized what he’d done and what was happening. Doors slammed around Ace several feet away, separating the two behind layers of thick metal. There was a loud thud. Soon he heard the thrusters on it take off and the two were separate by layers of thick metal and the dead void of outer space. 

Fuck. Oh fuck this wasn’t good. The one guy who knew anything about the ship systems was stuck in the escape pod in deep space and the clueless diplomat was the one with anything beyond a functioning communication system. 

“Ace, Ace do you read me?”

“Ack!”

“Answer me. Don’t just give me parrot noises, this is serious.”

“Looks like you got what you want. I’m outta your hair and I’ll just take the slow boat to the nearest planet and you can pick up some babe at your destination to haul your ass back to Earth. See if I care! I’ve left you before and it was great! Ack!”

“You only have enough oxygen in there for a couple days. Don’t clown around with me, Ace. I... don’t want your blood on my hands.”

“I’ll fucking survive. I’ve had my face smashed in multiple times in car crashes and made it. I’ve made it this far without keeling over from an overdose or alcohol poisoning or liver shit. It’ll work out somehow.”

“No human can survive the vacuum of space. Even if lack of oxygen is an issue, I don’t know how long those pods are even meant to be floating in space for, they’re meant to be used for a few hours, not days.”

Ace went quiet over the radio.

“Just stay calm and stay in the proximity of the ship and I’ll try to retrieve you. I’ll call mission control and see if they can walk me through the return procedure.”

Blackwell put down the mouthpiece. He could feel the sinking in himself. The return procedure was just one of his nice overconfident claims. He didn’t know if that actually existed. It was just... so easy to slip in that mindset in make or break situations like this. 

“Stanley from ground control here. I’ve heard your distress call, Mr. Blackwell. Accidental escape pod releases ain’t unheard of but aren’t typical at all, especially not in wilderness situations like yours. Stay calm, and we’ll do what we can to remedy this. That pod should be fine for up to five days. I can’t speak for the effects of solitary confinement, but physically Ace should live if retrieved within that time. Since he seems to be stable and you’ve both been up for 16 hours now, I’d suggest your both tuck in for the night. Rest and come back tomorrow with a clear head and we’ll see what we can come up with in the mean time.”

Day 1

Blackwell had struggled to sleep that night, but guzzling several tubes of astronaut ice cream distracted him and wore him out enough to finally crash. Waking up from a dream about landing on a planet made of unfrosted cake to remember Ace’s life was in his hands was jarring. He downed a cup of space coffee as he called up mission control.

“So the first step is gonna be pulling him in with the tractor beam, then you’re gonna put the capsule in the cargo bay and lock it up so you can retrieve him. Not too bad, huh?”

Ace seemed to be in fine spirits. He’d left a tube of glue in his pocket and that was plenty to amuse him. He giggled and rolled around like a fetal infant through the pod security cameras. 

Blackwell nervously took control of the tractor beam joystick. Just like an arcade game. He liked arcade games. 

“Now line it up with the pod, any part’ll do. Press the button on the stick and the beam will pull it in, just like a claw machine.”

Blackwell slowly trained the green sight onto the pod. He pressed down on the button and expected to feel the tug of the beam. He felt nothing. He hit it again. Nothing. He hammered it and nothing was happening.

“Hey shmuck with the laser! How the hell do you miss a whole escape pod multiple times like that? How do you keep hitting empty space? It ain’t rocket science. And remind me to never share a bathroom with you.”

“I’m not! The tractor beam just isn’t working!”

“Is it even turned on? Any warning lights? Ever tried turning it off and back on?”

“Yes, there’s a red one and the... temperature of the system seems to be too high for operation. Is that related to the refrigerant supply for the main ship at all?”

“Yeah, duh.”

“Ace broke that shortly before he got launched out.”

“Ugh. HVAC guy’s out sick today, I can try and get him on the line tomorrow. Hang tight and don’t tell Ace or freak out.”

Ace radioed him.

“Hey Curly, what was with that laser and all? Trying to give me a light show to keep me occupied?”

“No, just... bear with me another day or so. Tractor beam’s acting up but we’ll find something. I promise.”

“Good, you better. I’m running low on glue and it’s fucking boring in this stupid hamster ball. Did you know hamster balls are awful for hamsters too and Germany outlawed them? Ack! Get me out!”

Day 2

He slept a little better that night. At least he had some idea of how to get Ace back and he still had time if things went wrong again.

“Alright, Blackwell, I’ve got the HVAC guy on to help you.”

“Sorry about yesterday, man, I had to take my constipated cat to the vet and the line was monstrous. At least I was able to look at the pics Stanley sent me at figure something out. Looks like all you’ll need to do is replace that section of piping he busted off and add more refrigerant. Since you guys don’t have a spare, I’d recommend cutting an appropriately sized piece out of one of the toilets’ plumbing as a stopgap. It’ll smell kinda funky and you’ll have to share the one when he’s back, but hey, lots of industrial systems use ammonia.”

It was questionable to say the least, and more than a little gross, but he followed along with what Peter the HVAC guy told him. Satisfied with his jerryrigging, he got back to the tractor beam controls and got ready to fire it up.

But now the temperature indicator said it was too cold.

“What? What is this crap?”

“Check the central heat in the engine room and see what’s up.”

Blackwell stormed down into the most coldly industrial blazing inferno he’d ever felt. He took some pictures of the machinery and sent them over to headquarters. How could something be wrong with it? It was so hot in there. 

“Hm, I’ll get in touch with Eric our nuclear furnace tech. Unfortunately, your day cycle tends to begin around the time work is ending so a lot of the union guys ain’t here so you’ll have to wait until tomorrow again. Sorry. Ace’ll be just fine.”

Blackwell slammed down the line again. This was just frustrating. He couldn’t lose faith. He was tough. But this was something so out of his depth and so high stakes it just ate at him.

“Hey Curly, sure taking your sweet time, huh?”

At least Ace was still in good spirits.

“Nice job fucking up the cooling system on the tractor beam. And now the heater for it’s out of commission as well. This is taking too damn long. I’m sorry. I swear I’ll find something. I promise!”

“Hot and you’re cold, yes then you’re no, in and you’re out, you’re up and you’re down”

“Ugh, that song’s so 2008. Get with the times, it’s 2079.”

Day 3

Eric the nuclear furnace tech was much more chipper than Blackwell was.

“Good news, Mr. Blackwell! You won’t believe how braindead stupid the issue with the tractor beam heating is!”

“Yes?”

“From the diagnostic info I got from the ship computer, there’s just an obstruction near the tractor beam heat vent. It appears to be a heavily melted teddy bear! I can’t make this shit up, that’s all that’s wrong. Just need to unscrew section 4C and remove whatever remains of the thing and you’re good!”

Blackwell heaved a sigh of relief. Nuclear repair would have been the actual death of him. He was going to have to talk to Ace afterwards about how he got a teddy bear wedged in the duct. 

In a couple minutes, he extracted the half burned and melted remains of some unidentifiable stuffed animal, then shut everything back up again. Good as new, time to fire up the beam.

He got the laser dot, none of the warning lights were on, and bingo, right on the money this time.

Except it wasn’t. The beam fired several meters off the crosshairs. He tried again and it erratically shot off again, not even consistent in how far off or which way it would fire. How was this tractor beam used by a major space program? He’d be better off with a laser tag gun and an oversized sticky hand or chompy dinosaur grabber. 

What about the ship’s grabber? Surely that would be an option.

But no, that’s right. He himself was to blame for it. He’d made a botched emergency landing that one time Ace fell asleep at the controls and busted off the grabber hand and just let the local villagers keep it in exchange for fresh food and alien girlie mags. Or maybe he’d lended it to another ship and some scrappers on an impoverished planet stole it. He couldn’t remember but the beam was all he had to grab him with.

“Stanley, fucking tractor beam still won’t work. It won’t aim properly and I can’t hit that escape pod no matter what I try.”

“Yeah, I’ll have to get Bruce to talk to you on that. It’s got some alien wood critical to the system that can be fussy. He’s working at home today due to a wicked case of gas, so I’ll put him in touch tomorrow. 

Blackwell hissed under his breath and held his head in exasperation. Why was this system such a mess? Why did everything just have to go wrong NOW? What was with these damn employee absences?

“Curly, I’m losing my damn mind in this tin can. I don’t even have a home planet to look at as I float into oblivion. Just your ugly fucking garbage can of a ship. Why do spaceships look like something out of a old war film about some boring forever oil terrorist conflict in Sand-istan? I’ll be a good boy. Please just pick me up. I’ll do anything.”

The escape pod was slowly drifting from the main ship now that he thought about it. It made him sick.

“Ace, I’m doing everything I can. Just hang in there. The guy they need to chase this fault was apparently out for... excessive flatulence or something. This shouldn’t have been so crazy but all this weird shit is going wrong. I love you. I promise I’ll get you back eventually.”

Every day, his words felt more and more hollow. His chest felt more and more hollow. He was going to be the one at fault for Ace being shot off and dying in the void of space, nobody to hold his hand and comfort him. Not even a real deathbed. Nothing besides some strands of hair or toenail clipping to bury. Nothing.

Day 4

Bruce “The Spruce” resident tree expert was finally on the line.

“I think the wooden parts in the aiming and magnification system need to be humidified. It tends to be really dry in ships like that. Give it a couple spritz with a spray bottle and let me know.”

Blackwell puzzled at why they’d use something as finicky as wood in a delicate aiming device in a ship in an utterly inhospitable environment. Fucking aerospace engineers who’d never even touched a balsa wood airplane. 

After dampening the wood, Blackwell closed up the pod and set back to the beam. Pew pew into the void again. It was a little more steady, but the pod was getting so far away it was no easier than yesterday. 

“Try adjusting the various tension screws and see if it does anything.”

A little more improvement. A little less. A lot more. A lot less. He went at it for hours, fiddling with the settings and taking crapshoot after crapshoot. And the pod just kept floating further out. Tomorrow was the last day, wasn’t it? He got more and more frustrated and he pinged away into the late hours. Not even talking to Ace, he was too focused. Pew pew pew. 

Ace seemed cold and glum over the camera. Not as talkative as the reality sunk in as his home ship grew smaller and smaller and the air grew harder to breath. 

Blackwell heard a small crackle. He looked inside the aiming pod.

He was done for. Fractured mirror. Without it, the beam was useless, scattered into a million weak pieces. And he knew there’d be no crawling out of this mess. 

This was the end. Blackwell wept.

Stanley at mission control heard him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ace is dead. Just write him off. All hope is lost.”

Day 5

The camera footage was starting to crackle with static. The pod was dying. Blackwell stayed up all night watching the fizzling display and distracting Ace the best he could. His skin grew paler and paler. As the air grew freezing in the capsule his weeping tears froze to his cheeks, dribbling different directions across his skin in the lower gravity, leaving shining starbursts around his eyes. Then the visuals failed completely. All he had left was audio of him breathing slower and slower. His heart beating slower and slower. He wasn’t sure if he was even conscious anymore. The audio was fading now as well.

“Ace. Despite everything I’ve said, I love you. I’ve failed you and there’s nothing I can do anymore. Good night, spaceman.”

The audio went to static. 

Day 6

Blackwell crashed not long after Ace cut out. He’d been awake for over 24 hours. He awoke more groggy than he’d been before sleeping, Ace’s demise heavy on his heart and mind. How was he going to live with this?

Blackwell had been so focused on the rescue effort and so convinced Ace would be back in a day or two that he’d neglected the routine maintenance on the ship. Between his heavy-handed ignorance and Ace’s tomfoolery in repairing and renovating things, the ship was in a precarious condition. The tractor beam debacle was merely a symptom of a more pervasive disease. 

A clod of melted teddy bear hair fibers had been sucked into one of the manifold ducts of the nuclear furnace. It began to overheat as Blackwell dozed that morning, even a space donut doing nothing to dull the pain. He could see the desert planet’s form in the distance at last, but the arrival meant nothing anymore. The boiler’s walls grew hotter and hotter. That planet was bigger than the vague grey speck of the derelict coffin pod now. 

Sheet metal folded like wet cardboard in the intense atomic heat and in a matter of seconds, the ship was vaporized in a massive energy burst. Even if it had occurred over Earth there would have been nothing left of him to bury. 

Blackwell and Ace were reunited after all.


End file.
